


When a Snowstorm Saved a Life

by Splatx



Series: Evan, also known as "This is a Bad Idea(TM) [9]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blood, Blood and Violence, F/M, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx
Summary: When Beau had seen a cave with a campfire in it while trying to find shelter from a blizzard, he'd thought he was the luckiest Alpha alive.And then he'd thought he would die when he'd found that, inside, was the woman who had just slaughtered the rest of his gang.He certainly hadn't expected her to invite him inside. He definitely hadn't expected her to be an Omega. And he never expected her to enter her Heat.
Relationships: Evan/NPC, Red Dead Redemption Online Protagonist/NPC
Series: Evan, also known as "This is a Bad Idea(TM) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876702
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Into the Storm

She’d blown in like a blizzard.

They hadn’t seen her coming. Hadn’t heard her, neither. Had only known she was there when Davies dropped dead, a throwing knife sticking out from between his eyes. They’d leaped up from their campfire, but she was already moving, diving behind the abandoned schoolhouse that Jackson had claimed as his cabin. Lyle hadn’t even made it to the maxim gun before he’d been killed, a spray of fine red mist all that remained of his head. So Beau, the only other one of them who could use the gun without killing their own, had bolted for it.

He’d only made it a few steps before the snow exploded beneath his feet, and he had been flying. Flew, flew, flew, and hit the ground hard, throwing up snow around him. Beau had watched as booted feet rushed by him, gunfire rippling in his ears, before he lost his tentative grip on consciousness. They’d all been gone in moments, none of them had even known what had happened.

  
  


Beau came to slowly. He was dazed, and it was _cold_ —he couldn’t feel his nose. Or, he realized when he reached up to touch it, make sure it hadn’t fallen off, his fingers. He moaned, quietly, and looked around.

  
  


His blood curdled in his veins, and he choked.

It was a slaughter. Davies was staring at him, eyes grey in death. Lyle laid not far away, head completely gone. Jackson must have come running, as he was crumpled in a heap, one arm gone at the shoulder; Charlie was not far from him, a hole in his throat. Beyond them, he could see the corpses of his companions, and a quick guesstimation turned up the entirety of the O’Driscoll camp. She must have thought him dead, or she would have killed him, too.

God, he had been so close to dying. He began to shiver even harder, eyes going wide, staring blankly at the bloody scene. The man could taste blood on the air, and he wondered, idly, if anyone else had made it. From the looks of it, no, but perhaps there were others simply unconscious as well.

  
  


It was beginning to snow, he realized, when he shivered even harder, losing feeling in his face. He needed to _go;_ he wanted more than anything to take shelter in one of the cabins, he had loved Colter, but the doors stood wide open, some looked blasted apart. The area was soaked with blood, and he couldn’t move the corpses fast enough, scavengers would be a real danger. The area was rife with bears and wolves, he’d be eaten before he could move even Davies.

So he stood, staggered, fell, and stood again, shuddering violently in the cold. His coat wasn’t near thick enough, was stiff with snow that had melted from the heat of his blood before freezing again, so he looked around: Davies wouldn't need his coat anymore, would he? Touching his corpse felt disrespectful, and when he put his coat on he was surrounded by the scent of the other Alpha, making him growl. But he was warmer, so he sucked it up, rankled as he was.

A wolf howled, and he looked over his shoulder—Beau's eyes widened, he could just barely make out a wolf's silhouette, slinking over to Jackson's corpse, and he could make out the gleam of of more's eyes in the flurry—gulping and moving through the snow as quietly as he could. There were plenty of caves nearby, empty cabins, too, and if he could get to one then he could hunker down until the snow stopped, try and find a ride into town.

  
  


The flurry could barely be called that anymore.

The wind was gusting, and he had to squint to see. It was cold, and Beau was starting to think he should have risked it with the wolves.

But God must've been looking down on him that day, because he saw the unmistakable silhouette of a horse in the storm.

As he neared, he realized it was one of theirs. Jackson's, if he remembered correctly, all long legs and grey patches, too good natured for such a foul man. The poor beast was scarred up from the man’s over-eager application of spurs, but was worn down enough that it wouldn’t protest being ridden in such a storm like so many horses would.

So he grabbed its reins and climbed into its saddle, kicking it into motion and heading where he hoped the road was.


	2. Flickering Light

It was _so cold_ , and Beau couldn’t feel his fingers.

  
  


Jackson’s mare shivered beneath him, trudging through the snow, following his leg commands. The reins hung limp on her neck, numb fingers unable to grip them, and he slumped low over her neck, her own head low to the snow. He didn’t know how long they’d been riding, but he knew they should have found the road by now. But the snow was blowing so hard that they could have walked clear over it and they wouldn’t have known it.

So when he saw a light gleaming through the storm, he could have cried.

The mare followed his guidance, turning and trudging towards it, struggling more and more. Beau patted her on the neck, more of an aimless slap than anything else, and spurred her into motion.

  
  


And it was a cave, with a campfire in it. Why there’s a campfire, he doesn’t know—maybe one of his fellow O’Driscoll’s had escaped?—but it means he doesn’t have to find firewood or try and light a match with fumbling hands, so he falls off more than dismounts the mare, grabbing her reins and leading her inside, stopping at the sound of a cocked gun, his heart dropping to his feet.

“Hands up.”

The woman that had attacked their camp earlier (and of course it was her, who else would be up here in this storm?) stood, flickering in the firelight, the twin barrels of her shotgun leveled at his head. That red horse of hers dozed, unbothered, behind the campfire.

He didn’t have much of a choice so, letting go of the mare’s reins (she didn’t move, instead lowering her head to the ground and beginning to doze), he held his hands up besides his head, palms facing her.

“You got a gun?”

Beau shook his head—he hadn’t been able to grab one before fleeing Colter, and there wasn’t one in Davies’ coat, or on the mare’s saddle, so he was completely unarmed—, “No, ma’am.”

She stared at him with harsh green eyes, before nodding and lowering her gun to rest the muzzle against the ground, rifling through her satchel before pulling out an apple and tossing it to him. “Give that to your horse and you can have a seat, she looks exhausted. Ain’t got any water other than that what’s in my canteen, unfortunately.”

He fumbled it, barely catching it, and he thought the corner of her mouth curled up in a grin but that could have been a trick of the flickering firelight, but he didn’t much want to have his head blown off by that shotgun of hers and so did as he was told, turning and tugging on her bridle to get her to raise her head, pressing the apple to her mouth until she finally accepted it, gulping it down messily and looking that slightly bit better, eyes brighter and ears perking up. Beau patted her between the ears before stumbling to sit by the fire, curling into a ball as close to it as he could.

  
  


The woman shifted, and suddenly there was a canteen landing in his lap. He fumbled with the lid, hands still numb, before finally pouring it down his throat, the water frigid cold and painful with how cold he already was, but he was so thirsty so he gulped it down.

“Thank you ma’am,” he stuttered, passing it back to her once he’d had his fill, and she nodded, setting it back on the pile with her other things.

  
  


They sat by the fire for a time, the woman tossing him an oatcake, and then a second, slowly eating one of her own, the heat slowly setting into his bones until he could feel his extremities again and he wasn’t hurting.

Finally, he dared to ask, “Ma’am?”

She looked up at him, using her sleeve to wipe the oats off her mouth, and nodded.

“Why… why’re you lettin’ me sit here with you?”

“Would you rather I threw you out into the cold?” She bit off another chunk of her oatcake.

“No! No, ma’am.”

“Well, you gonna hurt me?”

His eyes widened, and he shook his head rapidly, blond-brown hair flying around, “No ma’am!”

“Well, then why would I throw you out? I got my bounty, folk don’t need to know you survived, and ain’t no more blood need to be shed.”

He paused, chewed his lip, and then, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Evan.”

“Ma’am?”

“Name’s Evan.”

“Oh.” he paused, wiping his mouth, “Mine’s Beau.”

She nodded, swallowing a gulp of water from her canteen before tossing it to him. “Nice meetin’ you then, Beau.”

  
  


Warm, now, his stomach mostly full, bone-tired and feeling as safe as he could, it wasn’t long before Beau was asleep.


End file.
